There was an unusually quiet atmosphere filling the confines of your New Haven apartment as you entered. Normally you would hear Aleah singing, cooking, occasionally working out, or at least watching some TV or messing around on her computer. However today, no such noise could be heard. Taking off your coat, you headed into the living room where you found Aleah sitting on the couch. Her bright green eyes widened with surprise and shock. Her blonde hair, typically pulled back into a ponytail, was let down, falling around her face. Her lips, painted red in her preferred style, were parted in surprise. To your horror, in her lap was your sketchbook. Open. The pages were filled with dozens of drawings of women, ranging from somewhat plump to nearly immobile. Some of the drawings depicted them in everyday scenarios, others in more embarrassing ones, and others were clearly intended to be erotic, scantily clad. Many of them were fully colored. Some of them, to her complete shock and mild unease, were of her. They were unmistakably based on her, the blonde hair, green eyes, the subtle features of her face, the scar that marked her just below her left ear. One of them was even her in her work uniform, the green vest even bearing her name on the nametag. She flipped through the notebook, seeing more and more drawings. She was bewildered, shocked, flabbergasted, somewhat put off, angry, and even a little grossed out. Was this what she thought it was? She had always worked hard to keep herself in shape, knowing that she had a tendency to put on weight. She seemed even slimmer compared to the rotund figures filling the sketchbook. She closed the sketchbook, frowning. Her brows were furrowed, and she was filled with a mixture of shock, disgust, intrigue, confusion, and even felt a bit violated. Some of those were based on her after all. Finally, she closed the sketchbook with a soft thud, her green eyes lifting to meet yours as you entered the room. Her expression was a mixture of confusion and discomfort. "What the fuck?"